


Untimely

by attackfish



Series: Good People and Death Eaters [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Gen, I don't think it's spoilery to say Harry dies but it doesn't last, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, against nagini but still, animal cruelty, the sort of kind of deathly hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-13 01:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackfish/pseuds/attackfish
Summary: After Harry goes back to Hogwarts, it’s as if he hangs on a precipice, trapped on the edge and waiting for the storm to break. And none of them, not Harry, not Voldemort, not the Death Eaters, nor Sirius Black’s resistance, have any idea what the world will look like when its all over.





	1. Untimely

When Harry went back after the holiday, he went expecting… something. He had the Occlumency shields his father had taught him to build slammed tight over his mind like the doors of a Gringotts vault, and his skin prickled with the sense of impending catastrophe.

But none came. It was almost terrifyingly normal. Harry woke up, finished packing, then flooed to his father’s office with his trunk and drank the glamour potion, before making his way down to breakfast in the Great Hall as if nothing had changed. He slid into a seat beside Ron in Transfiguration, and dug his ink, parchment, and quills out of his bag as if it were any other Monday at all.

“How were the holidays?” Ron asked.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said by way of reply.

Ron shot him a quick glance full of meaning. “What’s going on?”

“Not here,” Harry said as quietly as he thought he could get away with. “After.”

Ron nodded, just in time, as the door opened and Professor Hardwick strode inside.

In the weeks to follow, if anybody had asked Harry what the lesson was about, he wouldn’t have been able to say. He was too busy staring at the door. The air itself seemed to tingle, as if the tension couldn’t be contained inside his body and had broken free to linger in the space all around him. Do he stared at the door, ready to spring to his feet the second Voldemort’s lackeys came bursting through. And they had to come bursting through at some point, he was sure of it. After all, he had just destroyed five pieces of Voldemort’s soul. He had to know about it, even if he didn’t know it was Harry. Surely Voldemort would try to gather him close, or put him under guard, or _something._

But class ended just like normal. He and Ron joined the stream of students out into the hallway and down to the Great Hall just like normal, and Harry felt the tension wrap around him like a noose until he was forced to wonder which was going to snap first, the invisible rope, or his own neck.

o0O0o

Between dinner and lights out, Ron met Harry outside the library, and they walked silently down the halls and into an empty classroom. Without looking at his friend, Harry closed the door.

“What’s the big secret?”

What wasn't? Harry wanted to say. “Nothing, I just don’t want anybody listening in.”

“All right, now you’re scaring me,” Ron told him.

Harry sat down heavily at one of the desks, and tried to find the words. He thought about the Weasleys, about Percy stuck working in Peter Pettegrew’s office, and Bill and Charlie sold into marriages with women from Death Eater families, willing to overlook their family’s disfavor in the name of their pure blood and extraordinary fertility, about the three of them desperate to do the same for Fred and George before they could fail to be useful to Voldemort’s regime. And he felt like a complete heel. “Do you have any plans, you know, for after Hogwarts?”

Ron gave him a long, disquieted look. “I always figured I’d work for you,” he said slowly.

“That er…” Harry tried to find a nicer way to say it, but there really wasn’t one. “Might not happen.”

Ron stared. Harry could feel his eyes puncturing his skin like needles. “What?”

“I just really think you should have other plans,” he said quickly. “In case it doesn’t work out.”

Ron looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, not that he didn’t believe it, but that he couldn’t. Harry watched it hit him, the meaning of his words penetrate slowly into his brain. “Bloody hell,” Ron gasped almost breathlessly. “You’d really… I can’t believe you’d hang me out to dry like that. You know we… I was… You know what?” he snapped, and with a few more words his mother would have hone white with shock if she had heard coming out of his mouth, he bolted from the room.

Harry was left alone in the room, feeling as if suddenly he couldn’t breathe, as if there was a film between his mouth and the air, forbidding it from his body. And part of him wished so hard that he could go back and make it so that he had never done anything, or that he could just stop here, and have no one ever know what he had already done, that he could go back to before he tried to fake the Cruciatus curse, and just… step up like he’d always thought he would. Become a Death Eater, marry Ginny, bring Ron in to work for him, one day inherit James, keep everybody he cared about safe.

Like his father had tried to do with him and his mother, was still trying to do with him. And wasn’t that just working out _so_ well.

o0O0o

Ron didn’t speak to him the next day or the day after, but Thursday, Harry caught him looking at him in History of Magic with something unreadable in his eyes.

As he left the Great Hall that night after dinner, he felt something brush against his shoulder. He whipped around before he could stop himself, and it was Ron standing there, jaw clenched. “Come on.”

The unreadable look was back, something that looked like, but wasn’t quite, anger, or hurt, or suspicion, something that made Harry’s skin crawl. Ron led him down the corridors, just as Harry had done on Monday, leaving Harry’s nerves prickling with the familiarity by the time Ron closed a different empty classroom door behind them and dropped heavily onto one of the benches at the back of the class.

“So I thought about something, after we talked,” Ron said slowly, like he had no idea how he was supposed to say what he was about to say. Which was okay, because Harry had no idea how he was supposed to listen to it.

“Yeah?” Harry prompted, because he figured that was probably what he was supposed to do.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “See, I realized you never said you wouldn’t hire me. And you’re my friend, and I know you wouldn’t do that.”

Harry looked down.

“You wouldn’t,” Ron said more confidently. “So that means you’re afraid you won’t be able to.”

Harry didn’t say anything. Even if he could have made his jaw open and his tongue move, there was nothing he could say to that.

But Harry’s face must have spoken for him, because Ron’s eyes went round as oranges. “Harry, I need you to tell me what’s going on.” And when Harry didn’t respond, he continued, “It’s my life too, and I’m tangled up in whatever you’re in, so I need to know what it is.”

“I…” Harry whispered, and when it felt like he couldn’t breathe, he took a deep breath anyway, and started talking. And once he did, he couldn’t stop until it all came pouring out and Ron knew _everything._

o0O0o

After Harry finished, it was a long time before either of them spoke again. In the silence, Harry leaned back in the desk chair he had chosen, finished and wrung out. Perhaps he was supposed to feel better, after confessing, getting the weight off his chest, but it didn’t. It was as if talking had made it real, and worse, as if by telling Ron, he had just spread the problem to him too, like it had seeped into Ron like poison. And as the quiet stretched on, Harry wondered if Ron felt like that too, and like the world wasn’t just coming apart, it was _shredding_ beneath his fingers, no matter how much he tried to hold it together.

Finally, Ron did speak. Ron, who if they still sorted kids would have gone into Gryffindor no question, who was so brave, like no one Harry had ever known, like Harry was never going to be. Harry knew he would have to have been in Slytherin like his dad. He wasn’t brave like Ron, or loyal, or smart, but he knew he was ambitious. No one made that many stupid decisions, all to try to remake the entire world without a lot of ambition. But Ron, who had more courage than anyone Harry knew, said, “I guess we’ve got to figure out how to kill Nagini now.”

Harry laughed with relief, then realized it sounded a bit hysterical, so he stopped. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

“I don’t know, I mean it’s a lot to take in.” Ron shrugged. “You got to give me some time to, I don’t know, digest.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled.

“But first thing we have to do is kill Nagini, so that’s what I’m thinking about right now.”

The laughter ripped its way out of Harry breathy and bleak, and more than a bit hysterical. “Yeah, that works. Let’s figure that out first.”

o0O0o

“You’re not going to die, Harry.”

They were out by the lake, bundled into their heavy winter robes, and talking in hushed voices like something out of one of his dad’s old Muggle spy novels. Ron kept surreptitiously glancing back at the castle, and every rime he did, the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck stood on end. That was one thing that made them look the most suspicious, he almost hissed. “Yeah sure,” he said instead, as neutrally as he could manage.

“I’m not going to let you,” Ron pressed on. “If he put a piece of his soul into you, there has to be a way to get it out without killing you.”

“Probably.” Harry shrugged. “But it’s not like it’s going to help us if nobody knows how.”

Ron’s eyes flicked back to the castle again before he answered, “I suppose we’re going to have to do some experiments.”

“Yeah, you can set me on fiendfyre.”

“We can stab you with a basilisk fang.”

“We could let a Dementor kiss the scar.”

“That’s the spirit, Harry.”

o0O0o

That night, Harry borrowed one of the nondescript school owls and sent a piece of torn parchment with the words:

_“Can you get into Hogwarts?”_

He didn’t sign his name.

o0O0o

Two days later, the note came back with one word scrawled under his message:

_“Yes.”_

o0O0o

The end of the year, and the Dark Lord’s annual presence at the feast, loomed menacingly in Harry’s mind, but there were still five months to go until then, five months with nothing to do except schoolwork and getting ready for the O.W.L.s, (or try to at least. It was nearly impossible to care about an exam, any exam, when odds were, he wouldn’t survive to see the results).

It was a lot easier just to stare at the picture of a runespoor in his Potions textbook and mutter at it in Parseltongue.

“You think he can tell when someone’s speaking Parseltongue, or does it just sound like normal speech to him?” Like it does to you went unspoken.

Harry shrugged. “I hope not.”

Ron laughed. There was that familiar edge to it that all their laughter had lately. “Yeah if he does, we won’t have to worry about it that long.”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

“You think maybe we should skip the Parseltongue and just lure Nagini out with the Carrows’ evil cat?” Ron suggested, flipping through his Dark Arts book irritably.

Harry suspected the two creatures had some kind of professional courtesy, but it was, he had to admit, an appealing thought.

“I am going to fail Dark Arts,” Ron said, falling short of matter-of-fact.

“If we win, that’ll probably be a good thing.”

Ron grinned. “Yeah. Like a mark of character or something.”

Harry gave the runespoor illustration one last look and shut the book, smiling at his friend. “Yeah.”

o0O0o

Harry had the last letter to Sirius Black all written up and ready for months before he was going to send it. He carried it around with him in the pocket of his robe or else hid it deep in the gap between the veneer of his trunk and the wood frame. It was too incriminating to risk being found, and yet.

He had thrown it on the fire twice, and watched the parchment blacken and curl before vanishing completely, only to write it out again the next morning. It was… It was comforting. Proof that they weren’t doing nothing, that he and Ron, they had a plan, even if it wasn’t a very good one, and even if, no matter what Ron thought, he expected to die fulfilling it.

Harry hated waiting. He knew he was a terrible coward. And he just wanted it all over with.

o0O0o

Three days before the last day of classes, Harry smoothed out the letter one last time before folding it into s tiny square and tying it to one of the school owls.

“Do you think there’s a chance we actually passed any of our O.W.L.s?” Ron asked.

Harry laughed. Anything would have sounded funny right then. They had issued their ultimatum. They could only hope…

Even with the letter speeding to its destination instead of tucked away in his pocket, Harry could still see the words in his mind. He held them like a talisman and forced himself to breathe.

o0O0o

Ron gripped the axe and pulled, but the suit of armor’s gauntleted hands wouldn’t let go. “I hope he really can’t tell the difference between Parseltongue and normal talking.”

“I know,” Harry said.

“Because if he can, we’re going to be too dead to do anything about Nagini,” Ron finished, smacking the breastplate hard as he tried again to wrench the axe away.

“I _know,”_ Harry muttered. “I can’t tell, so we just have to hope he’s the same way.”

“Look you-” Ron let out a stream of invective that Harry was pretty sure he had picked up from Fred and George. “I need it to defend the school, alright? You understand that? Give it over!”

The armor let go, and Ron dropped to the floor, narrowly missing slicing off several of his fingers. “Thank you,” Harry said to the suit of armor uncertainly.

“Yeah, thanks.” Ron was much less polite as he stood up and shook himself off.

“You ready?” Harry asked, injecting as much confidence into the question as he could.

Ron squared his shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Okay.” Harry nodded, and turned away. He didn’t stop until he stood just outside the massive open doors to the Great Hall. Tucking himself into the shadow behind one of the doors, he peered through the doors and took one last deep breath. _“So tasty,”_ he hissed in Parseltongue. _“So delicious.”_

The indecipherable roar of hundreds of students, teachers, and of course guests, their voices blending together in a homogeneous blur, must have drowned out his own voice, and Harry considered shouting to see if that would help. But then he caught sight of Nagini uncoiling, creeping slowly off the dais. He hissed again, _“Fresh tender juicy meat, so good.”_

And Nagini kept slithering closer, threading her way between the tables as her master said something to a Death Eater Harry distantly recognized as Avery. Harry backed away from the door, walking backwards down the corridor, keeping up a steady stream of Parseltongue. It was working. She was actually following. Harry rounded a corner just before her head whipped around the doorway. Her long, muscular body undulated across the stone faster than Harry had thought possible. Setting off at a jog and then a full run to stay ahead of her, he raced back to Ron, panting as he hissed Parseltongue full of promises of food and good hunting to her.

At last, as he neared the great castle doors and the fear that Ron wouldn’t get there in time, that he had missed his chance and Nagini was going to have her fresh meat after all, he heard a heavy thud and the sound of metal hitting stone. He spun around in time to see Ron jumping away from Nagini’s body lashing and bunching and arcing into the air in wild death throes, double-bladed battle axe smeared with snake blood.

“You remember the incantation?” Harry called out, and before he was even finished, Nagini’s body and head erupted into flame. When her body was little more than charcoal and ash, Ron jabbed his wand at her again, muttering the counterspell, and the fiendfyre died away as if it had never been.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Harry said, breathing heavily, unable to tear his eyes away from the blackened remains of Nagini.

Ron grinned wildly. “Do you think he’ll get the message when he sees this?” he crowed.

“Don’t know how he could miss it.” The silence in the entryway around them was unnerving. As loud as the Great Hall had been, as relatively quiet as their ambush had been, it still seemed wrong, too good to be true, that nobody had run out and caught them, that they were leaving the scene in peace.

Ron passed the axe back to the suit of armor, the blood a dull crimson flash against the steal. “Yeah, but I don’t think we should hang around to find out.”

o0O0o

An arm wrapped around Harry, jerking him into a secret passage behind a tapestry. He tried not to glance around too curiously. “We’re going to kill Nagini?” Sirius Black’s raspy voice growled. “Show up if you think you can help?”

Harry tried to shrug the arm off, but Sirius held fast. “You came.”

“You are an idiot,” Sirius Black snapped. “You knew I would have to. I need to keep you from getting yourself killed.”

Harry didn’t have anything to say to that. It was true. It’s why he had waited as long as possible to send the letter. “I’m glad you came.”

“You’re not killing that snake,” Sirius Black retorted.

“Too late,” Harry said simply. “She’s already dead.”

It didn’t feel real. Part of it was the shock, he figured, but no, there was more. It had been so fast and seemingly so simple. After all those times he had to be there while she had eaten someone’s body after a public execution, there she was dead, and Harry and Ron had done it. Two kids had slain the monster.

In the dark tunnel, Harry heard gasps at the news. The air almost seemed to punch its way out of him with relief. He had brought others. Sirius Black swore. Harry heard a soft smack but Sirius ignored it.

Harry couldn’t help twist the knife just a little bit. “The feast ends in about an hour. That’s when he’ll find out about Nagini.”

 _“Lumos,”_ a woman’s voice intoned. The passageway lit up. Harry jerked hard out of Sirius Black’s grip, because the woman holding the wand was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Only it wasn’t. Bellatrix Lestrange had both her ears last time Harry had seen her, and this woman’s hair where the light touched it was a light soft brown, and Harry strongly suspected Bellatrix Lestrange had never worn a floral print in her life. “Ah,” the woman smiled without humor. “You must know my sister.” She passed her wand to her left hand and held the right out to Harry. “Andromeda Tonks.”

“I know both your sisters,” Harry said uneasily. He glanced around the passageway, taking in the dozens of faces, row upon row of people Harry didn’t know.

“Yeah,” Sirius Black said harshly, following Harry’s gaze. “I had a feeling you would do something like this. I brought reinforcements.”

“We brought an army,” Andromeda Tonks added. Some of the people behind her laughed nervously.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I was hoping you would. I…” he trailed off. “I need to get Ron. He’s, er, he actually killed Nagini. I just lured her in.”

Sirius held up a ragged looking paper to the light of Andromeda Tonks’s wand. “He’s in the corridor right outside.”

Pushing away the tapestry Harry stuck his head out of the tunnel and waved Ron over.

Once inside the passageway, Ron peered into the darkness at the edges of Andromeda Tonks’s spell. “Wow, Harry was right, you really did come through, didn’t you? There are what, a hundred people in here?”

“Ron?” a yell came from the back of the crowd, and suddenly, elbowing his way through was Charlie, who Harry had only seen a handful of times when he was allowed to visit his brothers and sister for holidays or school events.

Bill trailed behind him, smiling grimly. “You know Mum came up for the end of year feast right? She must be worried sick.”

“Er…”

“And we’re all going to worry her a whole lot worse,” Charlie laughed, grabbing his brother and pulling him into a tight hug.

“So is this it then?” someone shouted from the back, the words bouncing off the stone walls. “Are we really going to face him?”

Murmuring broke out through the crowd. Sirius Black barked orders for quiet, but to no avail. At last, Ron broke away from Charlie. “Yes,” he said decisively. “We are. The feast ends in about an hour.” As he spoke, people started to quiet down, and Ron’s voice grew bolder. Harry had to fight to keep himself from grinning at him. “After that, the Dark Lord will leave with his Death Eaters, including about half the teachers through the Entrance Hall where, er, that’s where we left Nagini. If we move fast, we can lock the doors to the Great Hall to protect the students, and then we can take out the Dark Lord and most of his highest ranking Death Eaters all at once.”

“You realize,” Sirius Black growled as soon as he was done. “We’re locking you in the Great Hall with the rest of the kids, right?”

“No.” Harry stared him down. “We killed Nagini. If you lose, we’re going to die anyway. We’re going to fight.”

At that, the crowd erupted into noise. Harry caught only stray snippets, an “Absolutely not,” from Andromeda Tonks, a “There is no way we’re letting you,” from Charlie, “You’re _children,”_ from a stern-looking old woman behind Andromeda.

“I just want to say I’m alright with that,” Ron called out. “I’ll help drag Harry inside if you need me to.”

“Traitor,” Harry muttered, and Ron elbowed him in the ribs.

“I’ll take charge of them,” a formidable woman in a green dress thundered out above the clamor. “They’re the same age my grandson would have been, you know.”

“No Augusta,” the stern woman said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, and the moment she opened her mouth, a hush fell over the passageway. “I’ll take them.”

Sirius nodded. She favored him with an inscrutable look in return.

“Harry,” Sirius said urgently, grabbing Harry’s arm. “I know what you think needs to happen, and it doesn’t.” His eyes bored into him, and he shook Harry’s arm with each word, as if trying to shake the words in deeper. “Go with McGonagall. Stay safe. We _will_ take care of this, I promise.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how or what to answer, and by the time he had remembered how to make his jaw work, the stern woman, McGonagall, had ushered him and Ron out of the tunnel, and was guiding them expertly down the school corridors. He tried not to stare as each time they approached a shifting staircase, it was exactly where she wished it to be, and twice, moved as they were on it to somewhere McGonagall seemed to want it to. She took this without comment or any sort of astonishment. It simply was. And yet Harry had only ever seen the staircases do that for one other person, his father, who was Headmaster. She was not, it seemed, one of those lesser mortals, who needed to wait for the school. The school waited for her.

And she moved fast. Harry had to jog to keep up. He envied Ron his long legs, but even Ron was panting when she pushed them through the door of a dusty and abandoned office. “We will wait in here.”“Why here?” Ron demanded. “We’re practically _miles_ away from the Great Hall. What is this place?”

Harry really thought the more important question was just who was she, but seeing as she didn’t answer either of Ron’s questions, he figured there was no point in asking that one.

McGonagall sat down behind the desk, closing her eyes in something like pleasure, or perhaps relief. Harry was overcome with the sense that she belonged there. “We are not miles away from the Great Hall, Mr. Weasley. We are a single flight of stairs and a very short walk away.” She smiled. And you can be assured no one will stumble upon us here.”

Something clicked in Harry’s brain. “Hang on… This is your office isn’t it? You’re Professor McGonagall, the old Transfiguration teacher.”

Professor McGonagall inclined her head. “Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Snape.”

Ron coughed, “Bet your dad would’ve loved that,” he said, as Harry hastily rushed to correct her.

“I wasn’t sorted. We don’t do that now.”

“I know.” She favored him with a sly almost-smile, a twinkle in her eyes. “Forgive me for being biased toward my own house, but I have to think that two young men who killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s pet snake in an effort to start a final battle against him, in which they fully intended to participate, would be unlikely to be sorted anywhere else than the house of the brave.”

Harry’s face heated. “I’m not brave.”

The look Professor McGonagall sent his way was loaded with skepticism, but she otherwise refrained from commenting on that pronouncement.

“Besides, Ron’s right. My dad would hate it.”

“Perhaps not as much as you imagine, Mr. Snape. Your mother, after all, was a Gryffindor.” The twinkle was back. “No comment from you Mr. Weasley?” Professor McGonagall asked. “No protestations that you aren’t brave enough for Gryffindor?”

Ron’s ears went pink. “There’s no point really. Weasleys always get sorted into Gryffindor.”

“There is no always for any family, Mr. Weasley,” she told him sharply. “You would make a fine Gryffindor, but whatever house the Sorting Hat chose for you would be based on your own merits and not on the Weasleys who came before.”

Next to the fireplace on a low stool sat a moldering old hat that looked as if bits of it had been hacked off and clumsily stitched back on. Harry eyed it with deep suspicion.

McGonagall followed his gaze. “Yes, Mr. Snape. That is indeed the hat in question.”

“How did it get here?” Ron asked curiously. “It’s been missing since the Dark L- since the takeover.”

“That’s a very good question, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps Mr. Snape can answer it.” Her eyes bored into his, and to avoid them, he found his own eyes flicking around the room, slowly taking in the strangeness of McGonagall’s office, as it must have been on the eve of the Dark Lord’s ascension, preserved as if in amber. Not even the house-elves had been inside, if the dust was anything to go by. Professor McGonagall started to speak again, jolting harry out of his distraction. “Your father, Mr. Snape. He uses the Headmaster’s office, am I correct?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered warily.

“It opens for him then?”

“Yes,” he answered slowly. “He’s the Headmaster.”

“Then Mr. Weasley, he would be the only person able to access this office in my absence. He’s the one who must have brought it here, where only he could reach it and no one else would think to look for it. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named I’m sure wishes he had his hands on it.”

Harry nodded slowly.

“Mr. Black has never said as much to me, Mr. Snape, but we all knew there had to be a spy highly placed in both Hogwarts and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s inner circle. And it would explain your presence here today.”

Harry flushed again, but remained silent. Unfortunately, he figured that was probably answer enough.

“I’m glad,” she told him. “Your father is a good ally to have, and a very bad enemy. Tell me, Mr. Snape, your father and our fearless leader, have they worked out their differences?”

“No,” Harry said flatly. “They still hate each other.”

“Perhaps they have learned to work together in spite of that.” Harry thought he should be commended from holding in a scoff, but something of his opinion must have shown on his face, because Professor McGonagall continued, “I hope so for all our sakes. I must say it’s a promising sign that your father allowed the two of you to meet. I can’t imagine the boy I taught ever allowing such a thing.”

Harry felt the blood rushing to his face _again,_ and Harry wondered if there was anybody else in the world this capable of making him feel uncomfortable, without it even being on purpose. “He didn’t. I followed James. That’s how I found the headquarters.”

“James?” she looked at him sharply. “James Potter?”

Harry nodded.

“I was under the impression he was dead.”

“He’s my dad’s secretary.” What else he was went unsaid, but he was sure she heard it.

“He’s their go-between?”

Harry nodded.

“The bad blood between your father and James Potter was every bit as potent as that between your father and Sirius Black. Perhaps there is hope yet.”

Harry didn’t have anything to say to that, at least nothing he wanted to say aloud, so he turned his attention to Ron, who had wandered over to the Sorting Hat and was prodding it experimentally with his finger. Just then, quick as a snake, the hat struck, one of its many folds closing over Ron’s fingers like jaws.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Ron told it testily. “You don’t have teeth.”

The hat let go equally testily. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s rude to poke?”

“Sorry,” Ron snapped. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s rude to bite?”

“You’ve had more than a decade to sleep,” Professor McGonagall admonished it. “You have no business being cranky. Would you like to try it on, Mr. Weasley?”

Harry backed hastily away. Ron glanced at him. “I think I’ll wait for next year, Professor, if things work out.”

“Go back to sleep,” she told the hat. “And start working on a song.”

Pulling a battered piece of parchment out of her robe, she set it on her desk. She smoothed it out carefully and touched her wand to it. _“I solemnly swear,”_ she muttered, and with those words, familiar handwriting crisscrossed it’s way across its surface, spelling out the words: _“Not yet.”_

At the boys’ curious stares, Professor McGonagall smiled. “A gift from Mr. Black, a way for the Order to communicate with each other. He was my student you know, an exceptionally talented Wizard. You, Mr. Weasley might want to ask him about whether one’s family determines their Sorting. The rest of his family was in Slytherin, and he was a Gryffindor.”

“You don’t have to convince me, Professor,” Ron said, in the sort of carefully controlled tone he used when he was trying to keep from being short with a professor. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The words disappeared and reappeared as: _“Soon.”_

 _“Exceptionally_ talented.” She tapped the parchment with her wand. “He always was a favorite of mine. As was your mother, both your mothers, brilliant Witches, both of them.”

“Was…” Harry’s moth went dry. “Was James?”

Professor McGonagall paused, considering her answer. “Yes.”

Harry wanted very badly to ask about Peter Pettigrew, but that would have been too cruel.

The writing on the parchment abruptly vanished again, and when it reappeared, it read one word in large capital letters, _“NOW!”_

“Come.” Professor McGonagall shoved it back into her robe without bothering to erase it. As she shut her office door behind them, she turned to Ron. “Mr. Weasley, we will wait until after the day is over to inform your mother of what you have done. There is no need to worry her with that just yet.”

Ron let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh thank God.”

“What the two of you have done today, both of you showed tremendous courage. And you Mr. Snape, your mother would be very proud of you.”

It struck Harry then that nobody had ever said that to him, except his father and James, and them only rarely, and like it was a secret. That was probably why it hurt so much to tell her again, “I’m not brave. “I’m not.”

“Are you afraid, Mr. Snape?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And yet here you are,” she told him seriously. “That’s what bravery is.”

o0O0o

The walk, as she had promised, was short. At the top of the stairs, the Order if the Phoenix crouched out of sight behind a wall. Sirius Black watched the door to the Great Hall below. “Charlie and Bill are in there,” he told Professor McGonagall. “They say the feast is about to end any minute now.”

Professor McGonagall nodded and crouched down next to him. They waited that way for what felt like much much longer than the perhaps two minutes it was, until the doors to the Great Hall opened, and the Dark Lord himself strode out, in front of most of his inner circle, come to celebrate the conclusion of the year, and the induction of a chosen few graduates into the ranks of the Death Eaters. Those new inductees followed behind, both smug and uncertain. McGonagall grabbed Harry and Ron’s arms, and dragged them down the stairs as quietly as she could. As soon as the Death Eaters were out of sight, she sprinted with them through the doors of the Great Hall and yanked them shut behind her.

 _“Silencio!”_ she bellowed over the noise that had erupted at her entrance. “Professors and guests of Hogwarts, the battle against the man known as-” She hesitated almost imperceptibly over the name, “Voldemort for the liberation of the British Wizarding World is about to begin. The resistance to his rule is massed beyond these doors. If you wish to fight, this is your chance. As for the students, bar these doors after us. The Great Hall doors will never so long as there are Hogwarts students in need of protection behind them. We will come for you when the battle is done.” She held her head up high and surveyed the crowd. “If you wish to fight, come with me now.”

With a jab of her wand, the silencing charm ended, and the Great Hall rang with the sudden explosion of sound. Making their decisions, adults, the families of students, new graduates, a handful of sixth years, left their seats to surge toward Professor McGonagall, but many more remained behind. Charlie, Bill, and their parents joined the throng, and Harry’s father, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, stood up to follow.

He paused at the door. “What did you do, Harry?”

Harry shrugged helplessly.

“Later,” he said, jerkily glancing at Professor McGonagall. “We _will_ talk about this.”

 _No we won’t,_ Harry promised himself. He would be dead.

“Bar the doors behind us,” he shouted as he crossed the threshold. “Keep the children safe.”

The students and professors moved as one to slam the doors shut.

o0O0o

That familiar voice in his ear and accompanying yank behind his navel broke through the unfocused worry that had filled James’s head as he packed the office up for the summer. He braced himself concentrating on not falling flat on his face.

When he landed, Snape was alone outside the Great Hall, which was locked. James had no time to be puzzled by this before Snape rounded on him, wand in hand, a furious, frightening glint in his eyes. Without even realizing what he was doing, James backed up. Snape grabbed his arm and held him in place, wand aimed at the side of his head. _“Sectumsempra!”_ Snape snarled.

The bottom dropped out of James’s stomach. He wondered if Snape would tell him why as he was bleeding out or-

White hot pain ripped through his ear. His earlobe bounced wetly off his shoulder before falling to the floor, the earring with it. Sensation suffused his entire body. It felt as if the blood in his veins were tingling with the sudden return of his magic. The pain in his ear faded away in the face of it. It left him gasping. “What…”

Snape pointed in the direction of the sounds that had until then floated only on the edges of James’s awareness, the sounds of hurled spells, and people trying to kill each other.

“Let’s go,” he said, because it seemed like someone had to, and took off running for the battle, Snape right beside him.

o0O0o

The Great Hall was still a tumult of noise after the doors closed, all the more so it seemed because there was nowhere for the sound to escape. Harry glanced speculatively at the heavy steel and oak beam holding the doors shut.

“No,” Ron shouted over the din. “Don’t-”

But it was too late. Harry had his wand out, and the board was lifting up out of the way, just far enough to open one of the doors. Harry pulled it open and slid out.

“Harry no!” Ron yelled, but he followed, as Harry knew he would. Behind them, the door closed and the beam slammed back into place with terrible finality.

“Let’s go,” Harry said, and there was nothing else to do other than rush forward.

o0O0o

“Hey Peter!” James used Peter Pettigrew’s split second distraction at the sound of his name to grab him around the shoulders and neck with one arm, and grab his wand arm with the other hand. Peter’s elbow gave a sickening pop as James pulled the arm back, his wand falling from his slackened hand. James caught it out of the air and let Peter go. His old and very former friend sank to the floor with a formless sound of pain. James saluted him with his own wand. “Thanks mate.”

As James turned to walk away, Peter gave another weak moan. James stopped with a reluctant wince. Swearing under his breath, he pointed the wand at Peter. _“Stupefy.”_

o0O0o

Reine MacDougal had Rookwood cornered alone. She grinned toothily at him, wand high, as he quavered, crouched down. One hand up, he signaled a surrender. But he didn’t drop his wand. As she drew close, he whipped it up, sending a silent decapitation hex straight through her. She didn’t even have time to lose her grin, and it rolled away with her head, still on her face. Rookwood dusted himself off smugly, and turned to rejoin the rest of the Death Eaters, only to find former Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall standing, wands drawn, in his way. They didn’t give him a chance to try the surrender trick again.

o0O0o

It was impossible to tell through the masses of people running around firing spells at each other just what was going on. Dodging stray curses, Harry tried to scan the crowd. When he spotted the Dark Lord he almost groaned aloud. He was across the entryway, the entire battlefield, Death Eaters and Order of the Phoenix between them. Harry gripped his wand tight as he wove his way as beat he could through to him. He didn’t have to get to him he reminded himself, just close enough to be seen, just close enough that the Dark Lord knew he was there. Distantly, he could hear Ron trying to call him back, but he ignored him, pressing forward, until at last he broke through into a small empty space. He took aim at the Dark Lord and roared, _“Expelliarmus!”_

The Dark Lord deflected the spell easily, but he turned, and when he saw Harry, he yelled, “Snape!”

Harry saw his father across the room turn and saw the Dark Lord turn his wand on him. He heard the words, _“Avada Kadavra.”_ Green light filled his vision. But he did not even feel his body hit the floor.

o0O0o

James stopped breathing when Harry did, until his lungs began to burn, and his own body forced him. He stared at the Dark Lord, arms falling slack against his sides. An almost inhuman sound behind him, cut through the noise of the battle, barely recognizable as a voice. Snape, he realized distantly. It had to be Snape. But he didn’t… He couldn’t. It was just too much to care about that too.

A hand grabbed his arm. James jerked. All at once the world came tumbling back into too-sharp focus, intruding on the all encompassing shock and pain. “Are you all right?” Sirius asked.

James shook his head. No, that was the last thing he was. And he could deal with only one of these things at a time, the grief or the fight. And it was the grief. It had to be. He couldn’t escape it, but no, it had to be the fight, it had to be what was happening right now all around them. It had to come first and he _hated_ it.

Out of the corner of his eye, James registered Snape rushing toward Voldemort, firing blasting curses at the ranks of Death Eaters, as if they weren’t even worth disposing of, they were simply in the way. Voldemort lurched back under the assault as his Death Eaters struggled to close ranks around him. The great front doors of Hogwarts opened. Voldemort and his Death Eaters spilled out onto the lawn, and they surged out after them.

o0O0o

The ground underneath him didn't feel like anything much, but it felt like something. He lay there against it, lassitude filling his limbs, and it was a long time before he even had the will to open his eyes. There wasn't any light, but it wasn't dark either, or even gray, but he could see it, and he was lying on something, so he must be something too. But when he looked down, past his bare skin, there was nothing there but the same nothing that was everywhere else. In his stomach he could feel everything start to plummet, and he thought it was about to come out his mouth as he fell faster than it could keep up, but before he even started falling, his feet landed in a shrub. Crushed flower smell soaked into the air around him, and hydrangea petals scattered at his feet. He brushed himself off and stumbled, and when he got back to his feet, dirt stuck to his robe at the knees. Every few seconds, he glanced around, and he swore that when he looked away, everything he didn't see turned back into mist, the same twisting fluid mist from which everything but him had sprung, curling back into everything.

A soft snuffling whine split the silence, and he peered through the house window behind the shrub, but there wasn't anyone inside the spotless rooms beyond. “You won't find anyone in there." Harry leapt backward and tangled in the branches of the bush. Above him pair of feet dangled over the eave of the house roof. “It's a good thing too; I don't think you'd like the people who belong here.”

“Who are you?” he asked, more curious than disturbed. She swung down from the roof, hanging one handed from the edge, basket in her other hand, the crying coming from inside.

She dropped the rest of the way to the ground, her knees bending low in a crouch. “That's the nice thing bout being dead,” she smiled conspiratorially at him. “But you're not dead yet, are you? So what brought you here?”

Her hair fell into her face, and when she pushed it back, he gazed into his own eyes. He'd never seen her wearing jeans before. In all the photographs his dad had of her, except their wedding pictures, she was wearing robes. “Mum?”

“Yeah Harry.” She sat down on the steps coming down from the house's front porch, right underneath the brass house number, a large number four. At first she let the basket rest on her knees, but after the thing inside let out another cry, she slipped it off and set it next to her. “I guess I'm going to have to work hard to remember to take him with me when I go.”

“Why?” he stared at the basket.

“I wouldn't leave a kid here, any kid, not even this one.” She shifted the blankets inside and smiled open mouthed into it and cooed, “Yeah, I know you just came, but I still don't like you.” Her words rose and fell sweetly, like she was talking to a baby, and he looked inside.

There was blood on the blankets, and on the creature inside, deformed, childlike, it's skin mottled and broken, blood seeping through the cracks. “What _is_ that?”

“Just a little something that showed up with you.”

Harry shuddered convulsively, and for a long moment, it wouldn’t stop. He just kept shaking. At last, he tore his eyes away from the basket and what was inside. “Wait. You said I'm not dead? But how... I was hit with the Killing Curse, I... I came here.”

“Yeah, I know.” She patted the step on the other side of herself from the basket. “But one curse kills one, and this one killed that.” She pointed to the basket, and Harry's hand flew to his scar. She smiled viciously, and he suddenly remembered that when she died, she took a lot of the Dark Lord with her.

“So I can go home.”

“You could stay here. I wouldn't mind; it gets lonely here.” She flicked her eyes to the basket with distaste. “Don’t worry. Our friend here won’t be around for long. When the rest of him comes, he’ll go with him. I’d like to see that you know, Voldemort carrying around all the little maimed bits of his soul. Fits, really.”

A thin wisp of mist didn't solidify into grass fast enough when Harry glanced at it. He swallowed, trying not to show his alarm. “Is any of this stuff real?”

His mum, or her ghost, or spirit, or hallucination, or whatever she was, smiled. “Well you think it's real, and I think it's real, so I guess that makes it a little real. Temporarily real at least. It's all very metaphysical.”

“Oh,” he said, feeling even more bewildered.

“It's nice sharing the same delusion with you, kid.” She draped her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

“I’m not a kid,” he mumbled, but he let her. He leaned into her. She felt real and whole, like nothing else did there, as if she would still be there when the mist was merely swirls, as if she would still be there if he looked away. “I'm almost as old as you.”

“Makes you a kid,” she shot back, something sad. And much too knowing lurking behind her amusement. Harry didn’t want to open his eyes, and look back on the mists, or see his mother with her too-young face and her too-old eyes. He wanted to shut his eyes and rest like this forever.

“I have to go back,” he whispered, snuggling against her side, wrapping his arms around her. “I mean, I don't have to go back, but I have to go back. If I can, I have to go back. I… I'm not making any sense, am I?”

“No, but it doesn't matter.” She cupped his chin, resting her elbows on her thighs, “I know what you mean, my brave brave, _good_ boy.” Her hands came around his shoulders and she kissed him right on top of that terrible scar, the one that had brought him there. “I wish I'd been around longer so I could claim a bit of credit for that.”

“Bye Mom.” He wrapped himself around her one last time.

“Get out of here, Harry love, go home.” She squeezed him tight. “Next time I see you, I want you to be a whole lot older than me.”

o0O0o

Out on the lawn, it was easier to pick off the Death Eaters. With more room to maneuver, the Order’s numerical advantage became more than just a hindrance. Andromeda stalked the field scanning the battle for a single person. She saw the Carrows go down at the hands of Amelia Bones, and Lucius Malfoy and the Lestrange brothers, but her sister… With her luck, Bellatrix was already dead.

As the Death Eaters fell, the Order and the others who had come to join the fighting began to converge on a low rise where Voldemort himself stood all alone on an outcropping of stone, lazily firing off killing curses at the Order members massing around him.

But off to the side, like the fight against Voldemort in miniature, was another battle. What looked to be the entire Weasley family, their red hair catching the eye like banners, stood arrayed around a lone fighter. She had her arm around the youngest Weasley boy’s neck, the one who had killed Nagini, and she had her wand pointed at his temple, pressing in, forcing him to tilt his head to the side.

Andromeda ran across the field, robe fluttering around her knees as she hiked it up. And when she was only fifty feet behind her sister, she stopped and raised her wand. “Hey Bella!”

Her sister’s head jerked up toward the sound. That was all the distraction the Weasley boy needed. He wrenched himself out of Bellatrix’s arms and careened back to his family. His father caught him one armed, and Molly’s wand sliced through the air, fire gushing from the tip in a great wave, rolling over Bellatrix and swallowing her scream.

When it passed, flickering out without a trace, Bellatrix Lestrange the last of the Death Eaters to fall at the Battle of Hogwarts, Andromeda’s sister, once owner, and murderer of her husband and daughter, lay dead.

o0O0o

Harry woke alone on the floor, dead bodies scattered around him in the entryway of the castle. He was cold. The stone floor had sucked the heat out of his body. Pinching his arms, trying to shake off the sense of unreality that lingered from wherever that place had been, he levered himself to his feet. The battle couldn’t be over, he thought. That seemed too quick, too… to something, even if he had no idea how long he had been out.

But off in the distance, he heard shouting, and the crashing sound of people hitting walls and floor. He followed, suddenly, frighteningly, thrillingly, aware that he had come back from the dead, and that he had chosen this. He had spent all that time trying to die, planning it, holding those plans close, and that was over now. He had chosen to come back, and he should probably think about what he was going to do with life.

But not just yet. The vast horizons that were opening up for him, threatening to overwhelm him, had to be pushed aside. There was a battle to be fought first, and a Dark Lord who now could be killed. There was no time to figure out what he was going to do with the future he suddenly had, when he had to figure out what he was going to do right now.

One thing he die know was if he survived this, his dad was going to want to have that talk.

He walked purposefully toward the doors.

o0O0o

Severus swore he could see his son out of the corner of his eye, standing in the doorway into the Hogwarts castle, but he knew better than to look. This wasn’t a time he could afford to succumb to hallucinations brought on by grief. He was dueling the Dark Lord himself, and no one would be stupid enough to give that anything but his full attention. And it didn’t matter who was fighting next to him. It didn’t matter that it was James Potter and Sirius Black, his old Transfiguration professor, and Black’s cousin. None of that mattered. What mattered was they were barely holding their own against the Dark Lord, who held them at bay with all the cool self-assurance of a man who believed himself immortal.

And Severus couldn’t help but marvel at Lily, who had fought him alone, and taken half his hand with her.

“Voldemort!” his son’s voice called out. And the Dark Lord’s eyes followed the voice back to the doorway. As absurd as it was it hit him then, if the Dark Lord could see him, he was real. Giddiness bubbled up in his chest until he thought he might start laughing hysterically. Harry shouted out again, “Tom Riddle!”

“I killed you,” The Dark Lord denied.

“Yeah you did,” Harry said, walking down the lawn. “I found your diary, Tom.”

“What are you talking about?” the Dark Lord demanded, eyes on Harry and no one else. It would have been the perfect time to strike if Severus could have torn his own eyes away from his son, alive and breathing, walking slowly but surely, straight for the Dark Lord.

“I got your diary, the ring, the goblet, the crown thing, the locket, we killed Nagini, and you killed me.” Harry spoke steadily, but then he didn’t need to shout, because no one else moved a muscle. “I’m pretty sure that’s all of them. They’re all gone now.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” he asked, voice rising high and cold, but his hand on his wand shook as he raised it to aim at Harry.

Harry was faster. _“Expelliarmus!”_

The Dark Lord’s wand flew out of his hand. He reached for it, finger tips just brushing its base. His back arched back to follow it, his feet carried him backward, off the stone ledge. He toppled backward. It wasn’t a high fall, but the Dark Lord was an old man. His body landed on the rocks below with a solid thump and the dull snap of his neck.

Harry slumped down to his knees in the grass, too stunned to move.


	2. Epilogue

The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open without a password for the newly minted Head of House. As he stepped inside, dust rose from the carpet like a low fog. As soon as he left, Sirius knew, the house-elves would scurry in to rectify the situation, banishing the dust of fifteen years of neglect. The rooms would be made ready for the arrival of students.. The curtains and rugs cleaned, the walls scrubbed, the fires lit, and it would all look as it had before.

Sirius almost couldn’t grasp it. The idea of normalcy had become too surreal.

“So this is the Gryffindor common room.”

Sirius turned. “Does your father know you’re here?” There was only one person this could be, even if he had never seen him with that face before. It was astonishing how much he looked like James without the glamour. Astonishing. “Either of them?” he amended.

Harry grimaced. “They both think I’m with the other.” At Sirius’s expression, he went on, “You can’t tell them! I haven’t had a moment to myself all summer. They don’t leave me alone. I’ve barely gotten to visit Ron.”

“Well er…” Sirius began. “You can’t blame them. You did die. We all watched you die.”

Harry looked away. “I guess.”

“So this is where decided to sneak off to,” Sirius said when the silence had grown unbearable. “School.”

“It’s changing really fast here,” Harry said. “It’s interesting. I’ve never seen it like this before.”

Sirius supposed they should all be grateful that at least he wasn’t pacing the entryway or taking walks on the lawn in front of the castle. “And nobody would think to look here for you.”

“That too.” He stepped over to one of the armchairs in front of the fire, but he didn’t sit down, instead staring dubiously at the layer of grime. “I wonder if this is going to be my common room.”

“Probably,” Sirius said. And it struck him that even that was far too close to dangerous territory. “I mean the hat has to sort you here now, to protect the sanctity of Gryffindor Tower.”

Harry snorted. And then he walked over to the window to stare out over the lawn.

“How’s Remus?” he asked hastily, just for something to say.

“The same as when you saw him this morning,” Harry said, struggling to hide a sardonic smirk. “How’s Reg?”

“Better.” Sirius swallowed his sigh. “He’s taken to visiting Andromeda. She’s taken in the Malfoy kid. That’s been… interesting.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “I bet.”

“I hear McGonagall offered your dad a job,” Sirius said lightly.

“Yeah he, erm, he says he would rather drink poison than ever set foot in here again.”

Melodramatic old bastard. “I meant James, you know.”

“Oh. I don’t think he wants much to do with this place either.”

Sirius understood. He really did. Everything was drowning in history now, all of it bad, the kind that made people run away, sell off what they had left, and move into little apartments in Diagon Ally, or a cottage in the wilds of Wales. Not that he had any idea about that, running back to Hogwarts like this. “Which makes it the ideal hiding spot.”

“Yeah.” He went back to the window, his eyes drawn to a certain rock ledge. Sirius remembered sprawling on that ledge in the spring sunlight with his friends, soaking in the sunlight after the end of winter. Before he could think of something to say to jerk Harry out of wherever bleak place his mind had taken him, Harry spoke again. “I really did die, you know.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean I really actually died. I met my mum. I talked to her. I can’t tell either of them that. I really did die and I did it on purpose, and I had no idea I was going to come back. I planned it, you know? I practiced what I was going to say to Voldemort, I practiced saying his name so I wouldn’t start stuttering or something, and I spent the whole year planning how I was going to die.”

Sirius realized with sudden horrible clarity just how completely out of his depth he was. “You aren’t planning to die again, are you?”

“No!” Harry yelled.

Sirius walked over and put his hand on his shoulder. “I don’t have anything wise and profound to say, Harry, but I think if you don’t want to die, you’re going to be okay. And you’re going to have to start thinking about what you want to do next.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Well, for the next two years, there’s still school.”

Sirius nodded. “Nice, safe, gives you a little bit of time.”

“It’s going to be completely different.”

“Yes it will.” The silence stretched on after that, but there was nothing about it what was uncomfortable. Instead, it felt necessary. “Are you going to keep wearing the glamour?”

Harry shrugged. “Most of the time. It’s how most of the people here know me. Ginny’s got plans to convince everybody I’m two different people.”

He laughed. “I can’t wait to see that.”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a surprised smile. “I don’t think it’s going to work though.”

“Probably not,” Sirius confirmed. “You’re the boy who killed Voldemort. You’re not going to get away from it that easy.” He searched his face. “You ready for that?”

“Not really.” Harry eyed him warily, waiting for his response.

“I think you’ll do fine,” Sirius told him.

Harry smiled. “Yeah.”

“Go on, get out of here. I’ve got work to do.” Sirius pulled him into a hug. “Go home. I’ll see you next week at the Sorting.”

o0O0o

The Sorting Hat’s Song, September 1996:

Fifteen years have passed since I have sung a song,  
And I don’t mind saying those fifteen years were long.  
Many passed through Hogwarts never knowing their house,  
Sorted instead by the things our conquerors espoused.  
Many stand before me for a sorting these long years overdue  
Who have made friends, fighting enemies by the slew.  
The last thing I wish is to separate you now,  
So a warning I will give to this assembled crowd.  
Don’t let your house divide you if you were friends first.  
There is no house that’s better and no house that’s worst.  
Every house has heroes and every house has shame,  
People who have brightened or darkened it’s great name.  
Gryffindor, the house for those of courage true,  
Gave us Sirius Black, James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew.  
Ravenclaw where they desire all the knowledge in the world,  
Hosted Reine MacDougal, Filius Flitwick, and Quirinus Quirrell.  
Hufflepuff, the house of hard work, fairness and brotherhood,  
Sheltered Pomona Sprout, Amelia Bones, and Augustus Rookwood.  
Slytherin, house of ambitions great or little,  
Had Severus Snape, Andromeda Tonks, and Tom Riddle.  
Come on up and sit right down; I’ll tell you what I know,  
But I can’t tell you who you’ll be or how far you will go.  
It’s your choices that define you, and determine who you’ll be.  
It’s you who have that power, no matter what I say or see.  
Rejoice in the living, honor the dead,  
And never fear what lies your own head.  
What you were this morning you’ll still be when I’m done;  
You make yourself who you are; you’re the only one.

o0O0o

_“‘Yes, but the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters,’ said Sirius with a wry smile._

_-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,_ J.K. Rowling, First American edition, page 302, July 2003.

The End


End file.
